


See I Have Come To Burn Your Kingdom Down

by DeliriousMess



Category: Magic Knight Rayearth
Genre: Multi, burn it down, haha holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:55:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeliriousMess/pseuds/DeliriousMess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay so this is a bit of a mess at the moment and might be for awhile. This is what I've started calling my "Anarchistic!AU" for MKR. It's a reimagining of the series and of the magic knights themselves that honestly started because I wondered how different the story would be if each of the girls had to go on a pilgrimage of some sort to connect to their corresponding gods. And here we are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She leans against the railing of her balcony. Her hair is long and falls freely down her back. Her upper arms have matching scars  that look like the claws of a creature that grabbed her. They are not the only scars she bears. She hears bells as she sighs, staring out at the city as the sun begins to rise.

Her city. 

The city she fought for for her people It is marred with it’s own scars from a war that seemed so very recent. 

_The rebellion is being held in your name._

She shivers as a light breeze brushes passed her.

In the distance she can see the spires for the sanctuary she had built to the Fire God.

Her God. 

They say that she is the embodiment of the Great Fire Beast; that with a look, she could boil seas and burn forests; that she swallowed fire and was not burned. 

She’s not sure about that, but there is something wild and untamable within her that sparked the beginning of the end of how things used to be. 

She hears light padding of bare feet on marble, and leans into the arms that encircle her waist. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a dark head bow down as he plans a kiss on her bare shoulder.

“Good morning.” She smiles.

“Mm,” he mumbles back, his voice and body still heavy with sleep, “You’re up early,”

She reaches up and places her right hand on the back of his neck, “Couldn’t sleep. Eagle still asleep?”

Lantis nods, shifting his head so that his chest rested on her head, “He won’t be up before noon.”

She giggles lightly and lets the conversation die away.

They stand like that for a few moments, staring out at their city, when he sighs and pulls lightly for her to go back into the room, “C'mon,”

She shakes her head and shrugs him off, “You go on, I want to stay here for a bit longer.”

She feels his eyes survey her before he spoke quietly, “What’s on your mind?”

She shakes her head, “Nothing. Well, not really. I mean…”

She trails off, leaning back on to the railing. He touches her shoulder, making her stand up straighter, “You can tell me. You don’t have to, but–,”

“Tell me our story.” She says suddenly, cutting him off.

“What?”

“Tell me our story,” she repeats, looking at him over her shoulder. “Tell me how this started. I want to hear how our story should begin.”

He studies her for a moment before smirking. He sits up on the railing, letting his legs dangle over the street below them, and begins. 

* * *

 

Music was playing when he died.

He remembered that very clearly because it seemed so odd to him.

It wasn’t music that she would choose; too dark, too little up tempos and poppy lyrics.

He was confused why everything seemed to be getting dark.

He wanted to be there when she came back.

Soon, he realized that he wasn’t going to be there for her ever again. 

His last thoughts had been about her.

He had not been surprised.

* * *

There was always music playing when it came to her.

She hated silence.

She used to say that humans made too many interesting sounds to even tolerate silence.

He remembered seeing her lying on her bed on one of the rare moments she had to herself, and staring at the various stars, moons, and suns that she had hanging from her ceiling. There was music, faint, playing from the little music player that she had been given as a gift from a delegate, and she was humming along to the song. He couldn’t recall why he had wondered to that part of the Palace, or why the cracked door and the faint sound of music had held him captive like it had.

But he did remember that he didn’t mind it.

He had stood in her doorway, terrified of crossing into her space and disrupting this…meditation.

He never knew what made his presence known; he’d been so careful to not move he barely breathed, but she rolled her head on her bed to look at him, eyes as bright and blue as the sky out her window, and she smiled.

“You stare at all the girls like that?” she asked, sitting up. Her blonde hair, always kept impossibly long, spread on the bed behind her.

He coughed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–,”

She stood up then, her fingers nimbly dividing her hair into thick strands and beginning to braid it, “Don’t go apologizing, Zagato, I tire of people always thinking they’ve over stepped some sort of line that I don’t remember drawing.”

As she finished braiding her hair (she always seemed to do it much more quickly than seemed possible, given the sheer amount of hair she had), she opened the doors to her balcony and stepped into the sun, raising her face up to it as if it were the hand of a loved one. She sighed as if she’d been waiting to step into the sun for years and leaned forward slightly, standing in the middle of the balcony. 

He wondered if that’s what it was to her.

“Would it be proving your point if I apologized?” He asked after her.

She laughed as she leaned on the railing of her balcony, a breeze picking up the strands that she missed, and sun lit up her hair as if it were made of sunlight.

“I suppose that depends on whether or not you want to prove me right,” She beamed at him over her shoulder.

He smiled back at her, leaning against her doorframe, still not crossing into her room.

Her eyes softened and her smile became smaller as she looked at him. She tilted her head back, beckoning him, “Come join me, the sun is actually good for you,”

He chuckled but conceded, stepping carefully into her room, ducking to avoid some of the low hanging celestial decorations, “And what, My Lady, is that supposed to mean?”

He was struck by how much he stood out against the pale colors in her room. She had done her room mostly in white and pastels, and he hadn’t been aware of how many dark colors he wore until he stood in her room.

She smiled at him again, “It means what I said; the sun is good for you and is actually something that you should let into your life.”

He stood next to her as she turned her face back into the breeze that pulled at her hair again. Her bare feet were together, one over the other, as she crossed her arms and leaned on her elbows and observed the garden below. He was struck at how casual her clothing was; she had always seemed to be done up in the most regal of clothing, each piece meticulously designed and chosen to present her as what she was: The Embodiment of a God.

And yet, standing on that balcony with her, she was not the physical manifestation of an old God whose name no one but that only she could pronounce; she was just a young woman, talking to someone she had known all her life.

She was wearing a pair of simple blue jeans and a white knit sweater that looked to be at least one size bigger than it needed to be.

She looked comfortable.

The neck of her sweater was wide and showed the tops of her shoulders, and subsequently the tips of her scars.

They were only partially healed from the last time she had to pray to keep the country together.

He tried not to look at her scars.

He tried not to remember standing by and watching as she bled in the middle of the temple built to pay homage to their God of Creation.

He tried not to think about how she was so weak afterwards that she couldn’t stand on her own.

He tried not to think about how this was just a part of what life was for her.

He tried not to think about a six year old little girl being gifted the knowledge of a millennia old God and who had to bleed every time she called forth that gift.

_“In order to know what it is to Create, to grant life, she had to know what it is to be Broken, to have her innocence, her life, taken from her.”_

“I think it’s important to appreciate the little things, you know?” she was saying as he stood next to her, pointedly not looking at her scars though his stance and demeanor told her that he had seen them. She glanced at him, smiling, and then realized what was wrong. She tried to discretely shift her sweater so that the back covered her shoulders more, and turned to look at him more fully.

Her smile was more pleading than it had been earlier.

_Not now. Please. Just a few more minutes of being normal. Please._

He smiled back, hoping it was reassuring, and even stood next to her on the balcony, leaning on his elbows and entwining his fingers in front of him.

She turned back to look over the railing, smile easing back into what it had been before, as she said, “Alcyone always grumbles at me when I say things like that. ‘Little things?’”—she adjusted her voice to mimic her friend’s incredulousness—“‘What little things do you need to appreciate?’”

Zagato let himself chuckle at her impression, “As cheerful as ever.”

Emeraude chuckled, shaking her head, “I know she can be a little…heavy at times, but she’s really good fun when you get to know her.”

“And she’s just so personable, getting to know her is so _easy_ ,” He teased.

“Well, Zagato, I think the same could be said for you.” She chided, wrinkling her nose at him.

He chuckled, shrugging to signal that he conceded.

Emeraude grinned at him, “But see? Things like that. Making someone laugh. Little things like that. That’s important.”

He shook his head at her, still smiling at her, and leaned a bit further over the balcony.

He looked down at the enclosed garden below them, spotting his brother napping in one of the trees, and his mentor, Guru Clef, meditating under a tree on the far side of the garden. He spotted his own assistant, Inouva, standing at the garden’s entrance, surveying the garden as well, perhaps looking for him.

“You should share that with the guru, he could use a laugh or two.” Zagato commented.

She laughed again, “I’m sure he’d love to hear your input on his sense of humor.”

“I never said _I_ was going to be the one to tell him that.”

She shook her head, smiling still. She carefully took a small step closer to him.

He made no move to reassume the space between them, though he was careful to not get any closer to her.

“I worry…” she began and trailing off. She chewed on her lip, staring down into the garden.

He watched her, waiting her to find her words. She turned then, leaning her back against the railing and scratching the top of her head. She fidgeted with her sweater, still chewing her lip, then sighed and looked up at the sky.

The music was still playing in her room, and her decorations were still spinning lazily from a previous breeze.

“Sometimes,” she said, finally figuring out what she wanted to say to him, rolling her head back down and staring intently at a spot on the ground in front of her, “I think we, people, close ourselves off to what could make us happy, you know?”

He furrowed his brow at her, “How so?”

She sighed, throwing her hands up and letting them swing down to her sides, and never looking up from the spot in front of her, “I just mean…sometimes we know that something could make us happy but we just…refuse to…to let ourselves be happy.”

There was a pause before she dared to look at him, “You know?”

“Oh.” He said, eyes growing wide at what she was telling him.

She sighed and hid her face in her hands, “Oh Gods.”

He turned from the balcony and began to reach for her, “I…Emeraude…”

“Oh _Gods_.” She moaned into her hands.

He was about to touch her shoulder when she stood up straight, and quickly walked back into her room. She threw her words fearfully over her shoulder, touching the top of her head, wanting to run her fingers through her hair out of habit but she couldn’t because of her braid, “I, uh, I need to get ready for the next…things have been getting tense between Us and Autozam. Clef thinks that another…I need to get ready. I’m sorry.”

Zagato stood, adjusting his shirt, “Of course. I’ll see you in the temple.”

She ducked into her closet, calling back a muffled affirmation.

He had spent the rest of that day kicking himself for not saying something to her.

* * *

_“Coming to you live from the Citadel, where Matron Pillar Emeraude has come to make a statement about the passing of the High Priest, Zagato. It has been two days since the Priest had been found dead on the Palace grounds, shortly after the Matron Pillar was meant to return from a visit to Chizeta to improve relations, and this will be her first public appearance in over a month. Many speculate—,”_

“Oh would you turn that off? I can’t stand that reporter’s rambling.” Kakeru grumbled from the couch in the Shidou family living room. His twin, Masaru sat on the floor in front of the TV, leaning against the side of an armchair, next to their younger sister, Hikaru, and her dog, Hikari.  Hikaru was lying out on her stomach with Hikari curled next to her. She had one arm wrapped around Hikari and used her other arm to keep herself propped up. Their oldest brother, Satoru, was in the kitchen cooking dinner.

Masaru sat up and made to hit one of the buttons on the side of the television, the one piece of imported technology that their mother had bought for them, and their one connection to the rest of the country in their isolated home. It was small, and the reception was terrible, but at least they had it, at least that’s how their mom always put it.

“No don’t!” Hikaru yelled, taking her left arm from around Hikari and using it support herself, “I want to see the Matron!” Hikaru said quickly, blushing as she realized how loud her voice had been, but still waving her brother away with her right hand. Her dog, Hikari, lifted his head as his mistress took her arm away from it being wrapped around him and made a small whine at her to get her to pet him again.

Masaru smirked at her and held his hands up in a symbol of surrender, leaning back against the armchair, “All right, all right. Wouldn’t want to get between you and your ‘friend’,”

Hikaru smiled at him, wrinkling her nose at him, then wrapped her arm back around Hikari, cooing an apology at him. He nuzzled closer to her as she looked back at the television.

Ever since she had been a child, whenever she had seen any picture of the Matron, Hikaru had been instantly captivated and would study her image carefully, red eyes always sparkling. This addiction was only exacerbated upon her mother’s purchase of the television she was in front of with her brothers. She often would talk to a picture of the Matron that she had in her room; just nonsensical things about school, her family’s dojo and the training program that had made them famous, her dog, her brothers, really just about anything. Masaru and Kakeru quickly took to harmlessly teasing her about it, often referring to the Matron as “Hikaru’s friend.” She never minded, and she also wouldn’t explain to them why she felt so compelled to _talk_ to the Matron rather than _pray_ to her, as other citizens did.

The screen in front of her went from focusing on the reporter (who, Hikaru admitted to herself, really did have a grating voice) to zooming in on the balcony of the Palace at the center of the Citadel. The Matron was standing behind a podium, looking regal and dignified in her mourning clothing. Her dress was black and somber, a stark contrast to her usual whites and pastels, and it made her hair look brighter and her skin look paler. Most of her court wore dark clothing as well, all looking as tired and with eyes, if they were look up, that were vacant. Hikaru noted that the head of the Matron’s private guard, a man who must have been a relative of the recently deceased High Priest, was absent.

The crowd that had gathered outside the Palace, previously loud with the peoples’ chatter, became instantly quiet as the Matron spoke.

 _“My people,”_ she spoke, her voice strong and clear even through, Hikaru noticed, she looked very tired and sad. She looked as if she were on the verge of tears.

_“The passing of my trusted friend and one of our most respected Priests will be felt for many years to come. He was–,”_

“Do you think being that beautiful is a requirement for being a Matron? Or do you think that it’s just about having hair that’s ridiculously long?” Kakeru asked from the couch, not listening to what the Matron was saying but wanting to say something.

Masaru rolled his eyes and turned his head towards his brother, “Yeah I’m sure the God of All Creation is really concerned about how his Matron looks. And besides,” He grinned nudging his sister in the side gently, “if hair length was the requirement, our Hikaru would be inline as the next Matron.”

Their sister’s hair, a light firey red, was long enough to touch the back of her legs, though she usually kept most of it in a single braid down her back.

Hikaru, though she couldn’t really hear what the Matron was saying anymore, studied the screen intently and paid no mind to her brothers’ jokes or the nudge Masaru had given her. The Matron’s voice must have cracked or something because she noticed that the woman on her left, the Priestess Alcyone, reached out and placed a hand carefully on the Matron’s shoulder. The Guru to her right took a step closer to her and, though the move was hard to see on her family’s small television, placed his hand on her back. The Matron paused, pulling her lips into her mouth and let out a breath that moved her shoulders before she continued.

Kakeru chuckled, “Well I mean if you want someone to pay attention to your message–,”

“Don’t you think she looks sad?” Hikaru asked suddenly, studying the screen carefully.

Masaru paused, studying the screen with his sister, “No more than anyone else there. Why do you ask?”

Hikaru shook her head, petting Hikari’s head absentmindedly, “It must be so lonely, is all. Knowing all the things she does, having all that responsibility; I wonder if she has any friends, or someone she can talk to.”

Her brothers stayed quiet as they studied their sister as she watched the Matron Pillar on the television screen.

* * *

“Fuu! You’re missing it!” Kuu yelled up the stairs to where she thought her sister was. Kuu leaned against the banister, left leg bent so that her foot rolled on her toe, and head tilted towards the second floor for any sign of movement.

She sighed when she didn’t hear anything and yelled again, “The Matron’s giving her statement about the death of that High Priest! It’s really emotional, you should really—,”

“Kuu, what are you yelling for?”

Kuu jumped, letting out a small yelp as she spun around to look at the source of the voice. Her younger sister, Fuu, stood behind her, a book in one hand and one headphone disappearing into her blonde curls on the left side of her head as the other rested against her chest, threatening to tangle with the chain of her necklace.

“Fuu, you nearly made me jump out of my skin! Where have you been?” her sister asked, voice still loud after the scare her sister gave her.

Fuu shrugged, “I was just sitting outside—,”

“The last I saw you had gone upstairs, and the only way to our garden is through the kitchen where I have been all afternoon and not once did I see you walk passed me. How on _earth_ did you get outside?” Kuu asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest and letting herself fall back against the bannister to lean against. She crossed her right ankle over her left and arched an eyebrow at her sister, waiting for her answer.

“Um…well…” Fuu rubbed the back of her head with her right hand, a nervous habit, and when she pulled her hand back from her hair, she was holding a small twig.

Her sister’s eyes widened as she saw the twig and Fuu giggled, “I guess I found my own way out.”

Kuu grinned at her, “Oh you sneaky little thing.”

Fuu giggled again, letting her book fall open and pressing the twig closed inside of it.

“Though you know,” Kuu continued, reassuming her previous stance and tone of incredulous big sister, “A _normal_ teenager would use the ability to climb out onto a tree to go places _other_ than just on their house’s grounds.”

Fuu made a face at her, “Well a ‘normal’ teenager’s house doesn’t have grounds.”

Kuu pointed at her, “Point taken.”

Fuu smirked and shook her head at her sister, “Besides, the trees were ‘calling me’ as you like to call it.”

Ever since Fuu had been a child, she’d spend as much time as she possibly could out among the trees, climbing them and sitting beneath them and just being near them, and where the wind could reach her. When she tried to stay inside, or when the rains kept her from being out, she would get so fidgety. “The trees are calling her” her sister used to tell their parents.

Kuu grinned at her sister and stood up from the bannister. She linked her arm with her sisters and quickly led her sister into the living room, where their family’s television was broadcasting live from the Citadel.

“C’mon! I had only started yelling because I was trying to get you down here to watch the Matron. You know how much Mom and Dad love it when we keep up with what’s going on in their jobs.”

Their parents were both politicians of a fashion in their country. They were employed by a division of the Matriarchy to go and act as the government representatives for one of the farther out cities that made up parts of Cephiro. The city where they lived wasn’t nearly as large as the Citadel, but it was still fairly sizeable. Fuu shook her head at her sister, smirking briefly, before looking back at the television screen.

The Matron, looking somber in her black clothing, looked as if she was fighting the urge to cry right there from behind the podium. Fuu’s heart went out to the woman on the screen, and she wished that her position wasn’t one of such a public nature so that, even as the Matron Pillar, she could grieve how a person should.

Fuu shook her head as her sister launched herself over the back of their family’s couch and stretched out on the sofa, “I don’t know why you’d think I’d want to.”

Kuu glanced up at her sister, “Oh come now, we used to love watching the Matron’s broadcasts, and it’s been so long since—,”

“Those were different,” Fuu replied coolly, “She didn’t look as if she were barely holding herself together those times.”

Kuu sighed and let her head fall back against a pillow she had landed on, closing her eyes, “Yeah. I know.”

Fuu looked at the screen again before saying quietly, “She just looks like she wants to go home.”


	2. The Killing Blow Is Often The Softest

Umi was exerting an expert amount of self-control.

She wanted nothing more than to take the point of her stilettos (her extremely _cute_ stilettos) into the throat of the person rambling on and on next to her, but she refrained.

She, instead, directed her attention to the unfortunate slab of meat in front of her and proceeded to cut it into smaller than bite-sized pieces. Though she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t imagining that the slab of meat was the man in question’s hand.

Or other body part, she really wasn’t sure how deep her hate for him ran.

“My Gods, is it just me or has the Matron’s fashion sense slipped drastically since she’s gotten back from Chizeta?” the man was saying.

He was a guest of her parents’, along with several other adults, who had been invited to their home for dinner, though they usually had the tendency to stay long after the dinner plates had been cleared and ended up drinking her parents’ good alcohol. This man, whose name Umi refused to remember and simply referred to as Iris, had a tendency to say things that always got Umi’s blood boiling from the sheer idiocy and inappropriateness of what he’s said. He was a bad looking man, however he also had a face that was entirely forgettable and a voice that, unfortunately, demanded to be heard no matter where the conversation was being held.

It made dinner parties like the one she was in incredibly excruciating to sit through.

It had been a week since the Matron had given her statement before retreating into the Palace and, presumably, the Temple, to make the proper arrangements, and yet somehow the press release was still the most talked about thing anywhere.

“Well I don’t know about that, I thought her mourning gown was quite—,” one of the other women tried to interject only to be cut off by Iris slamming his glass down.

“Ugh that dower dress!” he exclaimed, “She’s meant to be the embodiment of the God of Creation! She shouldn’t be wearing mourning clothes! She’s above all that.”

“I think it was very respectful of her to—,” her mother tried to say, only to also be cut off by him.

“I’m sure it was spending so long in that forsaken Chizeta country! Nothing but heathens there! Far too personable with their Gods! The fact that we haven’t tried to just conquer them already is astound—,”

“Shut up Iris.” Umi said, slamming her silverware down on the table.

“Excuse me?” he asked, baffled by the interruption.

“Shut _up_ I tell you.” She hissed at him, standing abruptly from the table, “Every time you come here all you do is make an ass of yourself and I’m finished letting it happen.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Umi!”

The man and her parents spoke over each other as she continued, “You have the _audacity_ to sit here and complain about a woman’s _fashion sense_ when she makes her first public appearance in over a month after being away from the only home she’s ever known and finding out that one of the _maybe_ five people she’s known her entire life is dead? And then to insult a country that we’ve been struggling to have stable relations with for decades! By the Gods,” she laughed before grabbing the back of his chair and leaning down so that her ocean eyes were on level with his as she continued, “I don’t know what happened in your life to give you such an exaggerated sense of self-importance but I invite you to consider how _insignificant_ the Gods must find you.”

The man sneered at her, “And you have the authority to speak for the Gods now, girl?”

She stood up straight and shrugged dismissively, “No. But I do have the authority to speak as a decent human being. Now, my appetite has been sufficient ruined so I will retire for the evening but I expect you to apologize for interrupting my mother, and for abominable behavior this evening.”

She turned to the rest of the people at the table and smiled coolly, “As always it’s been a pleasure to see and dine with you all. If you’ll kindly excuse me, I’d like to return to my room now.”

She offered them a small curtsey, “Good night.”

She then turned swiftly from the table and exited the dining room with only the sound of her heels filling the room.

As the door to the dining room closed behind her, Umi immediately took off her shoes and stomped the rest of the way to the stairs and then up them. She was still so consumed with rage at what the man had been saying that she couldn’t even really see straight.

She couldn’t understand how anyone could speak that way of another human being. Yes the Matron was supposed to be this human embodiment of a God made flesh but that didn’t mean that she stopped being a person. She still bled and cried and got hungry and tired and lonely like anyone else! How could someone be so immune to another person’s struggle?

Her thoughts kept buzzing around in her head as she closed the door to her room and immediately began to change out of her dinner clothing and into a bathing suit. She grabbed her music device from her dresser as she changed, making sure she had it on hand for when she got down there.

Her father was a well-known entrepreneur and had earned himself a substantial fortune, granting her and her mother a very comfortable life in the Citadel. Her home, a very large mansion, had its own indoor pool that Umi had used for as long as she could remember to swim laps when she got a particular kind of angry.

The kind of angry where she wanted to stab men in the throat with her high heels and imagined that her dinner was his various appendages.

She often wondered if she should have taken up kickboxing with her ballet background and if that would help to keep her anger more in control.

She wrapped a towel around herself as she took the back stairs down to where the pool was.

She sighed at herself; she was almost certain her anger would never be completely in control no matter how hard she tried.

Her father used to call her his Little Ocean, because she could be very calm and welcoming when she wished but when she was angry she could be as unforgiving as the ocean in a storm.

“You could rip a man to shreds with just a look!” he would laugh.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” she’d grin back, and he’d laugh twice as hard while her mother would give an all suffering sigh with a smile on her face.

The memory had her at least smiling as she entered the poolroom. She draped her towel over one of the chairs near the stereo system her father had had installed when the room was built and plugged her small device in. The music filled the space beautifully, and she had gotten very good at knowing the exact volume to have it at so that it wouldn’t rattle the rest of the house but so she could also hear the bass even under the water.

As the music played she pulled her long sky blue hair into a tight bun at the back of her head and stood at the edge of the pool. She let out a slow breath, staring down into the water, then dove in headfirst.

Ever since she was a toddler, she got a special kind of peace from being in the water. Her favorite memory of the water was from when she was three; her father and her mother had taken her to the pool of a friend’s. He had been holding her, playfully dunking her into the water, but never letting her head get submerged, when she had somehow slipped from his grasp and fell completely into the water.

By some sort of stroke of luck, she had managed to get a lungful of air before she went under, and she just instinctively held her breath.

And she had opened her eyes.

She was mystified by the world she saw around her, and the way the light game through the water.

It was beautiful.

It only lasted for a moment before her father quickly scooped her out of the water, asking her if she was all right, but she only squirmed in his arms and asked to go back into the water.

As she reached the other end of the pool, she became aware that she had an audience. She breached the surface and pulled her self up onto the edge of the pool.

“If you want me to apologize,” she said as she climbed out of the pool and sat on the concrete edge of it, “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I refuse to apologize to that man.”

Her mother stood motionless at the other end of the pool as Umi continued, “I can’t believe Daddy keeps inviting him to these things. He’s the rudest man I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting and it’s as if he just doesn’t _care_ about what he says so long as he says it! And what—,”

Umi’s sentence died as the music stopped. She stared at her mother’s back by the stereo and felt her stomach drop.

Silence always meant something was wrong.

And the slump in her mother’s shoulders made her think something was very, _very_ wrong.

“Mom?”

Her mother turned to her, tears on her cheeks, and her voice broke as she said, “The Matron’s been found dead.”


	3. It Is As It Should Be

Clef was old.

He didn’t look it of course; he had long since tapped into an old magic that took care of that.

But days like this, he felt every year that he’d over-lived. Two funerals in the span of two months, burying two people he’d known since they had been born…it was enough to wear anyone down.

The castle felt like a crypt, and the people who lived and worked there acted like ghosts; drifting passed each other, not speaking to or looking at each other, existing but not really living.

She’d only been dead a month, yet it felt like years.

The country had been experiencing the most unrest it’d seen in centuries; riots in the Citadel, increased pressures on their boarder with Chizeta, Autozam threatening war after being formally accused for the assassination of their High Priest Zagato, and there were earthquakes that were increasing in frequency and intensity.

The country was falling apart, yet there was nothing to be done until a new Matron had been chosen. In all his years, he’d never felt so powerless.

And there hadn’t been even a stirring the temples of the Gods since Emeraude’s funeral, when the statues wept for her. It had been unsettling, seeing the stone faces of ancient beings damp with water that fell from their eyes, but not nearly as unsettling as the sight of her body lying motionless at the foot of her alter.

Alcyone had taken her passing the hardest, refusing to see her body, and becoming nearly hysterical when she came close to the Temple doors. Clef hadn’t seen her for longer than a debriefing meeting since Emeraude had been found dead, when she had to speak to the people, but today, he had a feeling he was going to find her.

The wing that had held her room had all but been closed off since her death, and the silence of it broke Clef’s heart; she would have hated this.

When he reached her door, he wasn’t surprised that it was open. He was surprised, however, that there was voice coming from it.

“—posed to die.” He heard Alcyone’s voice say. It sounded tired and gravelly, as if she’d only just managed to find the words she wanted to say.

“I didn’t…this isn’t fair. It was supposed to be you and me, changing the world, making it ours. I didn’t…” her voice trailed off.

Clef took this opportunity to walk into the room, when another voice said, “It is as it should be.”

A chill cut through Clef as the voice spoke, and he quickly opened the door. Alcyone jumped as Clef quickly stepped into the room, eyes wild trying to find the owner of the second voice, only to see Alcyone sitting on the bed, alone.

“Guru!” she yelped, quickly scrubbing at her face as she stood. He often took for granted that she had been trained alongside Emeraude since childhood. Always at the forefront of the public eye, always picking up and covering wherever and whatever Emeraude couldn’t; in an instant her eyes were dry, her face, while a bit red, showed nearly no sign that she’d been crying just a minute before.

She quickly pulled her long black hair up into a ponytail, and tugged at her shirt, “What’s happened now? What do I need to do?”

Clef’s brow furrowed as he scanned the room, trying to find some disturbance that would show where the owner of the second voice had gone. Finding nothing, he turned back to Alcyone, “Who were you talking to?”

Alcyone blushed slightly, “Oh, um, myself, I suppose. I thought…maybe being in her room she’d…”

She let her words trail off as she looked around her friend’s room. The stars, moons, and suns still hung from the ceiling, her bed was still made, there was half-burned incense still in a holder in the corner, and the sheer curtains were drawn over all her windows, muting the gray light that came in through them.

Everything seemed frozen in time, as if the room was still waiting for its occupant to come back to it.

Clef pressed Alcyone, “I understand. But there was another voice…”

Alcyone gave him a confused look, “I’m sorry, Guru, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s just been me in here.”

Clef studied Alcyone for a long moment. She had gotten so pale since Emeraude’s passing, and dark circles had formed around her eyes. She was only twenty-five years old, and yet she looked so much older. In the silence, she squared her shoulders to his gaze and met his stare head on. Her purple eyes held a challenge in them, reminiscent of her usual stubbornness, but there was something tired about them, and something dark.

Clef did not believe her.

“Apologies,” he said, smiling weakly, “It’s so quiet here…my ears must be tricking me.”

Alcyone relaxed slightly, returning his smile, “I understand. She wouldn’t like it like this; all quiet and closed off.”

Clef nodded his agreement, clasping his hands behind his back, “Perhaps one day light will return.”

Alcyone looked around the room again as she mumbled, “If the darkness isn’t too great.”

Clef let himself chuckle, “She’d reprimand you for that comment.”

Alcyone just smiled back at him before squaring her shoulders again and heading for the door, “We should get back, I’m sure they’re wondering where we’ve gone.”

Clef nodded, stepping to the side to let her pass. He followed her out the door, taking one last look around it again before closing it behind them. Alcyone waited for him, and then immediately began striding back towards the main part of the palace.

“Has there been any activity in the Temple?” she asked over her shoulder as they walked. She took long strides, making it a bit difficult to keep up with her.

Clef shook his head, “The Idols are as silent as ever. How are the other priestesses holding up? Have you heard from Inouva about the other Priests?”

“They’re all holding up as best they can,” Alcyone answered, “but even with our combined strength, we aren’t a Matron; the last tremor proved that. Have we heard from Lantis on the Autozam boarder? Has there been any word from Fahren? If it comes to war, we’ll need to know our allies will back us.”

“No change.” Clef responded as they descended the stairs into the Great Hall towards the Temple, “Same with Chizeta, if the last reports from Lafarga are accurate. Presea has been working with the outlying settlements to quell some of the disquiet, but the Citadel is becoming a hotbed for the people’s panic. Fahren hasn’t committed to anything; their last letter was tentative at best. You don’t really suppose it will come to war, do you? I don’t think our people can take it.”

Alcyone stopped short, rolling her shoulders and sighing, “The people need their Matron, their leader. I’d speak to them but the last time that happened they—,”

“That wasn’t your fault, Alcyone.” Clef interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder, “We’re all scared.”

She looked at him, “Except you.”

Clef was about to counter when the doors to the Temple burst open as three Priestesses and a Priest came running up to them. The red, green, and blue robes of the Priestesses billowed around them, and they were each trying to speak over the other.

Alcyone held up her hands to calm them, “Peace, peace Sisters. What has happened?”

The Priest stood at attention in front of her, “There has been movement in the Idols, High Priestess.”

Alcyone and Clef exchanged looks, relief etched into both of their faces.

“Which ones?” Clef asked earnestly.

“Of Fire!” The Priestess in red proclaimed.

“Of Water!” The Priestess in blue added.

“And of Air.” The Priestess in green said.

Alcyone and Clef’s eyes widened.

“All three?” Alcyone whispered.

The group before her nodded.

“By the Gods…” Clef said.


	4. They Hear The Call

It was not long before Inouva heard the news. In fact, it was a miracle that the news managed to stay within the castle walls at all. It was as if a switch had been flipped in the occupants of the castle; within hours they had gone from the state of mourning they had been in for a month to bustling and preparing to greet the new candidates for Matronhood. Many of the other priests and priestesses were particularly exuberant and were reading up on texts written about the three gods of Evolution, Rebirth, and Wisdom, trying to understand what each of the potential Matrons would need from them. He barely managed to get away from their constant questions.

“Can there be more than one candidate at a time?”

“What happens to the ones who don’t fulfill their Pilgrimage?”

“Will they be like Emeraude?”

He rolled his shoulders as he walked towards Alcyone’s chambers, trying to quell his agitation at their questions that followed him and that were still ricocheting in his mind.

It occurred to him then that he could just turn them to the Guru for their constant questions.

He smirked at the thought as ascended the stairs to Alcyone’s room; the old man would certainly enjoy that. As he drew closer to the door, he heard frantic speech and the crash of items being thrown.

He opened the door without knocking, quickly stepping in, and closing the door as a knife flew passed his head and imbedded itself into the wood of the door.

“You missed.” He commented, unmoved by the knife. If he expected a sarcastic remark, he did not receive one. Alcyone, instead, was very preoccupied with a large book on her desk and mumbling frantically to herself. Inouva grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled it out of the door, setting it on a small table near the door. He surveyed the room carefully; there were books and clothes littering the floor and strewn haphazardly on every available surface, several candles burning around the room as well whose wax dripped on anything around them, there were knives jutting out of one of her bedposts. Her bed, he noticed, was an unkempt mess of sheets, though it also didn’t look as if it had been touched in some time. Her curtains, thick and black, were drawn though looked as if she had stumbled, attempted to right herself by grabbing hold of the curtain, and pulled the rod out of its holder.

He began to carefully towards her, when she let out an animalistic howl and knocked everything from her desk.

Inouva stopped short, as if he’d just made eye contact with a wild animal, and watched Alcyone carefully. She turned away from him, head tilted towards the ceiling, and grabbed and pulled at her hair.

Her shoulders began to shake, and she fell to her knees, crying.

Inouva continued to walk towards her, crouching besides her, and touched her shoulder gingerly.

She turned to him, eyes wide, frantic, and searching, “She won’t talk to me anymore. I keep trying and trying…”

She went to wipe her eyes, but Inouva grabbed her right arm and examined it. He looked at her, “You’re bleeding.”

She shook her head and continued speaking, “She never said, you know, she promised that she’d help the country and that I’d be loved and that there wouldn’t be any more—,”

“Alcyone, you’re bleeding,” Inouva interrupted, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapping her arm. She pulled her arm away angrily and slapped him.

“Shut up, Inouva!” She yelled, scrambling to her feet. She towered over him, “Gods, you are so useless! Here I am, trying to find some sort of solution to our new problem, and what are you doing? Fuck all!”

“Alcyone—,” he tried to say, climbing back to his feet.

“No! I don’t need you! I need her! I need—,”

“You need to stop.” He said firmly, grabbing her upper arms. “She won’t talk to you until she wants to, until then, we’ll deal with our little problem our way.”

Her angry disappeared and her shoulders sagged as she leaned into him, “Our way.”

* * *

“Hikaru, I know you want to be out teaching with Kakeru and Masaru, but…” Satoru was saying, as Hikaru sheepishly tied an apron around her waist.

She looked at her big brother, “I know. I’ve been a little…unpredictable with the swords lately.”

Her brother studied her briefly before he reached out and ruffled her hair, “It’s just been an off week for is you. Why don’t you grab the chicken from the oven and I’ll finish chopping the vegetables?”

She nodded, smiling nervously at her brother before he turned back to the cutting board and the vegetables waiting to be chopped up. She turned the oven off, opened the door, and, without thinking, simply reached in and pulled the dish out of the oven. As she turned to set it on the counter, Satoru glanced over at her and let out a panicked yell, “Hikaru!”

She jumped, losing her grip on the dish and having it thunk onto the counter as Satoru rushed over to her and looked at her hands, “Hikaru that was cooking at over three hundred degrees! Your hands must be—,”

They looked at her hands, expecting to see terrible burns on them, only to see them, miraculously unburned.

“How…?” Satoru asked.

Hikaru only felt her stomach drop and her heart race.

She felt as if something inside of her was waking up.

* * *

“Fuu!” Kuu yelled, walking under the trees around her house, “Fuu, c’mon, it’s getting dark!”

Over the passed week, Fuu had been spending less and less time in the house, and more and more time climbing her trees, going higher and higher than she ever had, and staying out later than she had too. Her parents were beginning to get nervous for their daughter, and Kuu…Kuu didn’t know what to think. Usually Fuu shared everything with her, but lately she’d been more withdrawn, and downright skittish around people.

She sighed and called again, “Fuu!”

“…Kuu?” came the quiet reply. Kuu looked up into the tree she was standing under, trying to spot her sister among the branches, “Fuu? You up there?”

“Um, yeah, I’m rather high up,” the tree replied

“Yeah, you’ve been doing a lot of climbing high up lately. I’ll wait down here. Be careful coming down.” Kuu called back, leaning against the trunk of the tree.

“Right…” Fuu said back. She was near the very top of the tree, somehow miraculously not falling out of or breaking the small, weak branches. Every part of her was telling her to start climbing down but something else told her to…

Well something else was telling her to jump.

She knew she couldn’t, she’d surely get grievously injured if she even tried, her sister would be in a state of hysteria , and her parents—

“Fuu, I know I said be careful coming down, but if you could hurry up just a little bit, that’d be—,”

Before Kuu could finish the thought, Fuu landed in front of her. Fuu straightened her shirt and wiped her hands on her pants, glancing up into the tree and then back at her sister who was staring at her, rather shell shocked.

“Kuu? Are you—?”

“Did you just _jump_ out of this tree?” Kuu yelled at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking her over, “Oh gods, you could’ve been killed! What were you thinking?”

Fuu just shook her head.

* * *

 

“Mom, I need you to do something for me,” Umi said, popping up at the edge of the pool while her mother sat in one of the plastic chairs, reading the newspaper.

“Of course, dear, what is it?” her mother said, not looking up from her reading.

“I need you to time how long I can stay under.” Umi said, propping herself up slightly.

Her mother smiled at her, “Aren’t you a little old to be doing this trick?”

Umi smiled nervously back at her, “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t…necessary.”

Her mother tilted her head; worry and confusion clear in her features, but nodded all the same.

Umi pulled away from the edge of the pool as her mother looked at the watch on her wrist, “Ready?”

Umi nodded.

“Go!”

Umi took a deep breath, and plunged into the water.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed; it seemed like within seconds she saw her mother’s reflection over her in the water, frantically waving her arms.

Umi emerged and looked at her mother in confusion, “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Umi, you’ve been under for five minutes!” Her mother said frantically, “How is that possible?”

Umi didn’t know what to say, other than what she felt in her heart to be true, “It’s beginning.”


	5. The Pilgrimage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very prototype-y. Written well before the previous chapters, takes place later in the story when the girls actually and officially go on their pilgrimages.

She does not know when she knew that she was not alone in her mind.

She only knows that she was not scared when He first spoke to her. 

His voice is old, and rings through her like a bell every time he speaks to her.

But as far as “First Words Spoken to Their Modern Manifestations of Their Souls” go, His were decidedly subpar. 

She had taken down her tent, and had just decided on the direction she was going to go, when his voice rang out through her.

_No, not that way._

She jumped, grabbed her bow, and pulled an arrow from her quiver. They had told her that she would be alone in her Journey, and though there were two other girls on their own Journeys, only one of them would get back to the citadel alive, and as the new Matron.

_No child, I am not there with you. You will not see me for some time. But I am here to guide you. Do you know my Name?_

She swallowed, trying to get her mouth to stop being so dry, and answered aloud, “Yes. But I cannot speak it. No one knows how to speak the Old Language of the Gods. Our tongues have changed too much since the time your Name was first spoken.”

_You do. You can see my Name burn brightly in your mind, and you hear how it is spoken._

And as He told her these things, she knew them to be true. She saw His Name in the letters of the Old Language clearly in her mind and she knew what they meant. His Name burned in her mind and sat heavy on her tongue.

_Will you speak it?_

She swallowed again, trying to force the word back down within herself, returned the arrow to her quiver and gripped her bow tightly. She had heard stories of what could happen when The Knights spoke the Name of their respective Gods. She had heard of great, miraculous things and devastating destruction done to whole nations just from the mumbling of a word.

“I am scared.” She said aloud. She saw no reason to deny this from herself or from the God that, if the stories were true, her soul was just a fragment of. She was scared.

_As you should be. The voice replied simply, But remember what your sister told you._

She let out a slow breath, “Courage is acting even when you are scared.”

_A wise girl. Now. Speak my name._

She stood up straight, preparing herself, gulped, and closed her eyes. She gripped her bow ever tighter as the word climbed up her throat and sat on her tongue. It burned so much and demanded to be shouted but she controlled it, and she whispered, “Windom…”

Suddenly, a great gust of wind rushed through the trees to the spot she was at, whipping up pine needles, and hitting her with such a force that she had to take a step forward to prevent herself from falling to the ground.

She heard branches snap and fall off of trees, and she heard the forest itself creak and moan like the bones of an old man, but she no longer feared.

Speaking His Name made her feel more complete than she had ever before, and the resulting gust from the verbalization felt less like an unperceivable force, and more like she was being enveloped in the wings of some great bird. 

She gasped as the feeling filled her, and when the wind was gone and the feeling with it, she stumbled forward again, suddenly feeling like something had been taken from her.

“What just happened?” she asked, trembling.

_Well, child, it looks like things are going to get interesting._

He sounded as if he were smiling.


	6. I am the Ocean, I am the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very prototype-y. Written well before the previous chapters, takes place later in the story after the girls actually and officially go on their pilgrimages, and when they are being presented to the people as Matrons for their gods. This is all Umi.

It had been a part of the plan. 

They had agreed before they parted ways that they would…well simply put, they would tell the truth.

They had all succeeded in becoming One with their Gods, but they would not come forth together as such. 

Questions had been brought to their attention that they had not considered before, and if the answers were what their hearts told them they were, things were going to get problematic quickly. 

But Umi was not new to faking normalcy.

And watching her act as the new Matron, even if she was only in part, was a thing of beauty.

The most impressive performance was when someone called her out on not being the “true” Matron.

On her Pilgrimage back to the Citadel, she stopped in every town she could that was between her Sea and the Citadel, and she stopped in a small village, and she spoke to her people.

“My good people,” She spoke clearly from the makeshift podium that the head of the village made for her, she smiled serenely at the crowd as they hushed themselves to her words. When a silence fell over them, she continued, “the time for panic has passed. The passing of our beloved Matron, the Princess Emeraude, left us with fear, panic, but also a deep wound in our hearts that no one could ever hope to truly heal.”

Every word was spoken with purpose, and the crowd was captivated by her voice.

She swept her long sky blue hair over her shoulder and stood tall before the crowd as she continued, “But, the Gods have spoken to me. They have told me that a time of peace, of unity, and healing is to come after this darkness. They have told me of the great things that we, as a country, are capable of. And They have chosen me, to lead us to that bright and brilliant future that we are capable of. They have chosen me to be our Matron.”

The crowd cheered and applauded, but one man called out from the crowd.

“Liar!” he yelled, “Lying whore!”

The crowd parted from him as if his very presence corrupted them. 

He was an older man, weathered with the years he had seen, and hardened by the work he had done.

Umi arched an eyebrow at the man, regarding him casually but with some degree of respect, “‘Liar’? What have I said that is untrue? Have the Gods imparted some knowledge upon you that they have neglected to share with me?”

He pointed an accusing finger at Umi, “You are a liar. I have heard tell that there are two other girls claiming the same in other towns, in other villages. They have all claimed to be our Matron. Our salvation. So who are _you_?”

She stood tall, “I am the one Chosen by the God in the Sea. I have not said an untrue word. What leads you to believe that I am the liar?” 

The man glared at her, not answering her, and becoming increasingly embarrassed by her calling him out before the crowd. Umi saw this in the man, in his fidgeting nature, in the clench of his hands, and she couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. 

 Umi raised her eyebrows at the man, “Well? What evidence do you have to disprove me?”

“They proved their Rites.” He said. 

Umi smirked, “And so have I. I bear the marks of the Dragon of the Sea, what more could you—,”

“I have heard that they invoked The Names.” The man interrupted her. 

A ripple ran through the crowd. 

Umi clenched her jaw, “And I imagine you would like me to do the same?”

The man sneered at her, mistaking her reaction for being caught in a lie, and opened his arms wide to encompass the crowd, “Aren’t we owed some _proof_? Who are _you_ to demand our trust? You are a child. A mere girl. If you are the one the Sea swallowed and spat back up, then prove it to all of us. And in return, I will follow you where ever you lead.”

A ripple ran through the crowd again and all eyes turned back to girl on the podium.

“You wish for me to call The Name of the Old God? Of a creature so great, and so powerful, that the very mere _uttering_ of the _first syllable_ of The Name has been told to swallow whole armadas? To _decimate_ whole coasts?” Umi asked, her fists clenched tightly and anger rolling off of her like the violent waves in a storm on the shore. She stepped off the podium and walked slowly to the man, speaking all the way. The crowd parted even further for her, as if she were a storm inside of a person.

Because she was.

The man swallowed visibly, and a slight tremor ran through his body as he tried to stand his ground.

She continued, “You would bring that upon yourself? Upon these people whom you work with, live with, whom you love?”

She paused in her stride and her words, waiting for the man to try to defend himself, to prove her wrong. He tried to do that, but the words died in his throat.

She smirked with contempt at the man and continued, “You are no man worthy of my words, or of my proof. You are a fool for wanting to see the work of your God through me. You have asked who I am to demand your trust. And you are right. I am a child. And I am a girl. But, oh, I am also so much _more_ than that. I have seen the true form of the God in the Sea. I have been swallowed by the ocean and I have returned. I bear The Word and the Mark and the Rites of a God so great and powerful that any other mind but my own would split upon learning a fraction of what I have.”

She stood before the man then, at least a foot shorter than him, but she seemed to be a giant compared to him. Her power rolled off of her and the crowd around was so compelled by it, that they bowed around them. The man cowered away from her, avoiding her gaze and taking great strides away from her until he tripped and fell on his back in front of her.

“You demanded evidence in exchange for your loyalty.” She stated, regarding him distantly, “But I can tell you now, that any man or woman who demands proof from me of my power, of what the God has given me, will not receive it. Because anyone who would wish for the destruction that that power can bring, is not someone I want or need on my side, or that we, as a country, need.”

She crouched down, demanding the gaze of the man, “Have I answered your questions, _Sir_? As a child, I can often lose my meaning as I speak. And as a girl, well, I think we both know how very little weight my words can be and how delicate of a constitution I can have. So. Have I made myself clear?”

The man nodded, and begged her for her forgiveness.

She stood as the man grabbed at her dress, she touched his head, “You will not have it. You are not a man of my country.”

She turned from him then and collected her things from beside the podium. She left the village, and every villager she saw bowed before her and threw flowers at her feet.

She was not questioned again.


	7. The Wild Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rough version of how Umi and Ascot meet during Umi's Pilgrimage.

Ascot knew an end was coming before most people did. 

The animals, the beasts he called ‘friend’ had been acting odd for weeks before the end came. 

So he hid in the forests by the sea, far from where the reverberations of the crumbling of human society could be felt. 

He was alone for years, few survivors wondering into his forest, his home, and even fewer making it to the sea on the other side. 

He avoided any person who came, letting his friends deal with them if they needed to, that is, until she came to his forest.

She was caught in an old hunter’s trap and trying not to yell for help, but he saw her, and knew that she wasn’t going to get out of it on her own.

When he approached, she drew her sword, “Stay away.”

He held up his hands, pulling his hood off his head to reveal his face, “I’m just here to help.”

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, blue eyes shining and face streaked with sweat and tears, “Stay back. I don’t need help.”

He looked at her leg. The trap had grabbed on to her leg, the teeth tearing into her calf, and her blood was coloring the grass beneath her.

“Okay the very purpose of traps like that is that only an outside party and get it loose. You don’t have to trust me but if I don’t get that trap off your leg, you will most likely die here. Let. Me. Help. You.” He slowly walked towards her as he spoke and as he finished, he leaned down close to her, letting the tip of her blade touch her throat. 

She studied him, then slowly lowered her sword, “Do it quickly.”

He nodded, and turned to the lever device that was out of her reach, he disengaged it, and pulled the trap away from her leg.

She screamed, but pulled her leg away and held it as close to her as she could manage. 

“I have a small camp set up just on the other side of the brush, there,” he nodded behind him, to the direction he had come from, “I have a few herbs and know a few remedies that will help with the pain and keep that from getting infected. You don’t have to, but I can–,”

“Please.” She said, offering an arm for him to pull her to her feet.

He wrapped it over his shoulders and gently pulled her to her feet, she winced as she stood.

“Easy,” he said gently, “Easy easy easy.”

They started walking, and he asked, “What are you doing in the forest all alone?”

“I have to get to the sea.” She panted, hobbling next to him.

He smirked, “A lot of people have needed to get to the sea. What makes you so special?”

She opened her mouth to answer him, but thought better of it, staying silent.

He shrugged and continued to lead her to his camp.

Maybe she’d tell him once she was healed.


	8. He Did Not Take Her Passing Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something that happens after the Pilgrimage, and after they 'die.' This is Ferio's response to Fuu's 'death.'

He heard that the Matrons of Water and Wind had been found to be liars and had been killed in the second town he went to.

They had long since parted ways since the forest, but he had done his best to spread her word, to follow along with her return to her hometown and then to the Citadel, and to defend her from naysayers. 

When he heard a few men talking about the news in the bar, he called the man a liar. It soon turned into a bar wide brawl that ended up with him in jail for the rest of the week. It was there that he learned the details of the Matrons deaths from the officer that watched him. The officer told him about how the acting Pillar had apparently discovered that the girls were lying about their Matron-hood, and for their crimes, she had them killed. 

He couldn’t believe it and he wouldn’t. He tried to tell the officer what he knew to be true; that he had followed the Matron of Wind on her Pilgrimage, that he had found her after her Vision with her Marks bleeding and her mind exhausted, that he had seen and that he had _known_. This only resulted in his sentence being lengthened, and being told that officers from the Citadel were on their way to take him to a more secure facility. 

For his sentenced week, he thought.

He thought about how she couldn’t be dead. Not the blonde girl with the bow and arrows who was scared and hopeful and who laughed at him and called him out on how unbearable he could be. No. Not the girl with the wounds that bled for four days and who leaned into the breeze as if it was the touch of a lost loved one. And if she were dead, what kind of Pillar would kill a girl, a child, to maintain peace? And what kind of God would let this happen?

This question infuriated him the most.

What kind of God, who gave His Rites to a girl, who had chosen His Matron, would let her just _die_? 

And why wasn’t anyone demanding _answers_?

At the end of the last day of his previous weeklong sentence, he broke out of the prison when his guard’s duty ended, reclaiming his sword and other possessions, and slipped out of the town.

 He ran to the forest and tried to trace his way back to the center. It took him what felt like weeks until he finally reached the low ruined walls that marked the beginning of the center. 

As he stared into the darkness of labyrinthine center, it seemed like the foliage was aware of him, of his intentions, and was preparing for him.

He dropped his pack against the wall, gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, and walked into the darkened labyrinth. 

***

They found him wondering the forest, missing his shirt, his shoes, and any supplies he might have had with him, the only one who knew him in the Anarchist’s band was the Wild Boy. Two members of the band walked through the camp, holding him as if he were a prisoner; it seemed unnecessary as the prisoner didn’t even seem to be aware of what was happening. It was only by chance that the Wild Boy saw the group wonder passed. He ran from his tent and stopped them.

“Stop! Stop! I know him!” he yelled to the men. 

The one to the prisoner’s left looked down at his charge. He was covered in dirt and dried blood that looked to be mostly his and scabbed over wounds marring most of his torso, and what could be seen of his legs, along with a cross-shaped wound on his left cheek. His hair, a deep shade of green, was matted and had small twigs and what looked like the bones of wild animals tangled in it. His golden eyes were wild, but tired, and his lips were cracked. The only thing that seemed clean about him was the golden hoop hanging from his left ear. The guard looked back at the Wild Boy, “Really, Sir. Because he looks like some villager that just lost his mind in the forest. We found him wondering around near the center of the forest, screaming like a wild animal and swearing loudly. He was cursing some god that I’ve never heard of. Win-something. Win—,”

Before the guard can finish, his charge seemed to snap out of his trance-like, even docile, state and grabbed the man by the throat, suffocating him. The other guard snapped into action and immediately had his sword pressed against the throat of the prisoner. The only thing keeping the guard from slicing his throat was the Wild Boy’s frantic protests.

“No!” he yelled, he grabbed at the guard, trying to stop him, “Please! I know him! Give me a chance to talk to him.”

“Talk fast, Sir.” The other guard answered simply, not removing his sword.

The Wild Boy quickly turned to the prisoner and spoke carefully, “Ferio? Ferio, c’mon. Let the guy go. Ferio it’s me, Ascot.”

He grabbed the prisoner’s hand that had wrapped around the guard’s neck, not trying to pull it free because he knew the strength the green haired man had.

Slowly, the man turned his head and looked at the Wild Boy.

A very faint flicker of recognition sparked in the eyes of the prisoner, and very quietly he said, “Ascot?”

The Wild Boy nodded, smiling with relief, “Yeah. Yeah it’s me. Let the guy go.”

The prisoner released his grip and stood there with a bewildered look on his face. The guard coughed, attempting to catch his breath, and finally the other guard removed the sword from the prisoner’s throat.

The Wild Boy addressed the guards, “I’ll handle it for me. Report back to the Anarchist.”

The guards, while still skeptical, took their leave. 

The Wild Boy looked back at his friend and grabbed him by the shoulders. He had gone back into some sort of trance.

“Ferio?” The Wild Boy said, “What the hell hap–?” 

“They killed them, Ascot.” His friend interrupts, “They killed _her_.” His voice was hoarse from thirst. 

The Wild Boy didn’t say anything at first. He just stood and studied his friend, and sighed, “Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s someone you’re going to have to meet.”

The Wild Boy attempted to guide his friend into one of the tents but he fought back, “Didn’t you hear me? They killed Umi and F—,” his voice cracked and he paused, trying to clear his throat, “…her. They killed them for lying about being the Matrons. You and I saw them. They were the Matrons. So why didn’t their Gods save them? Why is no one answering for this crime? Why are you so calm?”

As his friend continued his speech, his voice grew louder and louder until he was yelling over everything, causing several people from nearby tents to come out to see what all the fuss was about.

The Wild Boy waved them all away before turning back to his friend and whispering harshly, “Ferio. We need to get you patched up. There is someone who really needs to speak to you and whom you seem to really need to speak with as well. Now.” The Wild Boy grabbed his friend’s arm, gripping it tightly, “ _Compose_ yourself, and follow me.” 

He glared at the Wild Boy but complied, following after him as he led him into a medical tent. He was washed, the twigs and animal bones removed from his hair, his wounds were treated, and proper clothes were given to him. The doctor had tried to remove the hoop from his ear but that resulted in yet another violent out burst from him. Once dressed, the Wild Boy had him stand outside a fairly small tent and continued to make minor adjustments to his person.

As The Wild Boy circled him, checking over the bandages and his new clothing, his friend’s patience reached its end, “Ascot, what the hell is going on?”

The Wild Boy straightened his friend’s collar and smirked, “Just…”

He let the sentence trail off there before smiling and saying, “Just talk to her.”

His friend looked at him in confusion, “Her? Who–?”

Before he could finish, the Wild Boy pushed him into the tent.

He stumbled briefly, only noticing that there was another person in the tent with him but not registering whom it was until she spoke.

“Hello, Ferio.” 

He froze.

Slowly, he looked up at her face, and there she was. The short blonde curls that the wind would make dance around her face, the wire rim glasses that she had lost in the river that day and that he had to find thirty feet down stream miraculously unbroken, and the green eyes that seemed so open and that seemed to swallow everything they saw. She was all there. 

She smiled nervously, a slight blush coming across her face, “I’m so sorry to surprise you like this. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to find you but things have been moving so quickly here and—,”

He cut her off, wrapping his arms around her and clinging to her so tightly it felt as if he were trying to wrap his body completely around her. She was stunned at first, then wrapped her arms around him.

He was crying, “I’m dead, right? I must be dead. I finally pissed off that God bad enough that He just tore me apart. I have to be dead, and this must be my Eternity.”

He broke the hug to hold her face. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and coughed out a laugh at her surprised expression. He kissed her. He kissed her like he had wanted to since they met, since that night with the fireflies, since he had to leave her at the center of the forest, since he had found her bleeding in that field of lilies, since the storm, since he said goodbye.

And she kissed him back and it felt _right_.

She was the one to break the kiss, but she kept her hand on his left cheek, carefully cradling the wound. She pressed her forehead to his, and whispered, “No, Ferio. We’re not dead. I…I had to fake my death. I’m so sorry.”

He kissed her forehead, “No, no don’t be sorry. I knew you were alive. But why did–?”

She grabbed his hands from her face and held them in her own, allowing for a foot of space between them. He looked down at her hands and coughed out another laugh through his last straggling tears, “You kept it. The ring I gave you.” 

“Ferio,” Fuu said, pulling his attention back to her, “things aren’t what they seem.”

He looked at her with confusion as she continued, “Alcyone, the appointed Pillar, and her advisor, Inouva, we…” she trailed off, letting out a shaky breath and averting her eyes.

He shook her hands, trying to get her to look at him, “What? What happened?”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes, “We think they killed the former Pillar.”

Ferio reacted as if he had been punched, “Wha…?”

He let go of her hands and staggered back into a chair as she continued, fighting tears, “We’re not completely sure what part they had in her death yet, Hikaru’s still working on finding out what she can, but Alcyone has her claws deep into the system and her power is dark and terrible. That’s why Umi and I had to fake our deaths. She ordered for us to be killed because we were learning too much, but we went into hiding and Gods,” she hic-upped, “I’m just so sorry, Ferio.”

He rubbed his forehead for a moment, trying to let everything sink in, but as her words became more panicked and her voice kept cracking, he stood up and hugged her again, “Sh, sh, don’t be sorry. Please don’t cry.”

She clung to him tightly and cried for a few more moments before she pulled away, “I’m alright. I’m alright.”

She scrubbed at her face and tried to smile at him, “For a Matron, I seem to have such a hard time maintaining my composure around you.”

He chuckled and smiled back at her, reaching up and touching her cheek, “I wouldn’t buy you’re Matron act anyway,”

She giggled and leaned into his touch holding his hand against her cheek. They stood like that for a moment before something occurred to Fuu.

“What you said before, about pissing off the God…what were you talking about?”

He squeezed his eyes closed tightly briefly before taking his hand back and turned his back on her. He rubbed the back of his head and sighed heavily, “I’m really not proud of that.”

“Ferio?” she asked carefully when he didn’t continue, “Ferio, what did you do?”

He sighed again, then turned and looked at her. He smirked, “It wasn’t right, you know. Thinking you were dead. It didn’t make sense. The more I heard about it, the angrier I became.” He began to pace. He could see her out of the corner of his eye and he had to fight the urge to constantly do a double take. One of her Mark made it seem as if there was something moving under her skin and he wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to it. He continued, “Because what kind of Pillar kills a child? And what kind of God, who grants His Rites to that child, lets her die? It wasn’t right. So I…” he stopped pacing, closed his eyes, and let his head roll back. He sighed again before he held his head up again and looked at her, “So I sought Him out.”

She gasped, “Oh no. Ferio…”

He laughed, “You know, I would think about what you would say if I told you what I had been doing. Granted, in those thoughts, I was thinking about it in the context of my death. But that’s not the point. So I entered the labyrinth you went into and I yelled at Him and I cursed Him and I questioned Him and when He didn’t answer, I hacked and slashed at every plant and creature that came near me and…well…”

He trailed off but gestured to the wound on his left cheek, “I imagine you heard about the state they found me in.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and looked as if she were about to cry again. He didn’t say anything; he just looked down at the ground as she kept staring at him.

Very slowly, she walked towards him. When she was close, she touched his cheek carefully. He flinched slightly and she pulled back her hand, but then he straightened out again and she touched his cheek again.

She stroked his cheek with her thumb and asked, “Why would you do that to yourself? You don’t…you could’ve died,”

He smirked at her, “If I’m being honest, I think that was part of the plan.” 

She held his face in both of her hands then and glared at him, “Ferio, I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say to you because if I _ever_ have to repeat this again you won’t have to go wondering into the forest to find your own masochistic punishment, do you understand?”

His eyes widened in surprise at her harsh tone but he nods.

“Things are going to get very difficult and very dangerous very soon and I’m going to be in the very center of it. Because of that, you will have to let me fight my own fights and you have to _promise_ me that if it the choice comes down to me or you, that you will choose you.”

“Fuu—,” he tried to say.

“No. Ferio. _Promise me_.” Fuu interrupted.

He stared into her green eyes, seeing the surface determination, but catching glimpses of her fear, whispered, “I don’t think I can.”

A tear spilled down her cheek, “Then just lie to me. Please.”

He reached up and wiped the tear away and left his hand against the side of her face.

“I promise.”


End file.
